


strain

by Xorxos Brook (cdra)



Category: Pandora Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Drinking, Chains, F/M, Feral Behavior, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-19
Updated: 2015-06-19
Packaged: 2018-06-08 00:22:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,296
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6831400
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cdra/pseuds/Xorxos%20Brook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even as he lets out a throaty rumble as a threat (or a challenge, it doesn’t matter), she doesn’t even flinch as she reaches out to stroke the mess of white on his head as if he were not a wild animal in shackles but a domesticated <i>pet</i> to be cared for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	strain

**Author's Note:**

> Had a mental image and the urge to write it down.
> 
> In me and my Sharon's vampire AU, Xerxes keeps drinking supernatural or illegal contractor blood and it's slowly poisoning him - and apparently driving him insane. He's fucking stupid, what can I say? ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

He thrashes against his restraints  _ only  _ when she comes to visit---he can hardly  _ see  _ through all the clutter that’s built up in his head (is that from being chained here so long, or was it there long before this?) but he knows the sound of her footsteps and even her  _ smell  _ (he thought it might be his damnation, once, that she smelled as  _ delicious  _ as he does, and maybe that  _ was  _ a part of it, he doesn’t particularly remember).

In the depths of him there is still a voice of reason saying she should  _ run _ , that she shouldn’t come  _ near  _ him---she should leave him here to rot, or perhaps finish him off with her own hands (no, that’s just selfishness speaking, he would never ask her to do such a horrible thing), but instead she’s as poised as ever as she glides across the cold floor to his side (what is this room, anyway? it’s his  _ prison  _ but it’s comfortable, not at all the sort of place that something locked away for its own good should be).

She speaks to him gently even though he hardly understands her words anymore (still, he could listen to her voice forever, or he could tear it straight out of her throat and let no one else have it); his senses are a blur and his thoughts muddled into nothing, but her presence is crystal clear in his mind even if her warm memory is thoroughly tattered, surely torn to ribbons by his own claws with the same mindless ferocity that makes him lunge forward, chains clanking as he snarls, even  _ growls  _ at her (as if only to repulse that tiny spark of his former self).

The extent to which he’s fallen  _ must  _ be obvious to her along with the fact that his own stubborn stupidity dragged him into such a state (perhaps if he’d fed  _ properly _ , taken from humans rather than slowly poisoning himself, he wouldn’t have found himself in the clawed grip of his inner beast), and yet she keeps coming to him as if she’s unafraid (he’ll hurt her, he’ll tear her apart and it’ll be  _ far  _ more satisfying than  _ any  _ of the many things he’s destroyed before).  Even as he lets out a throaty rumble as a threat (or a challenge, it doesn’t matter), she doesn’t even  _ flinch  _ as she reaches out to stroke the mess of white on his head as if he were not a  _ wild animal _ in shackles but a domesticated  _ pet  _ to be cared for (would that not be better than this?  perhaps then he at least would be able to provide her  _ something _ ).

Still, against her grace and gentleness he can’t continue to  _ struggle  _ so openly---she’s like him (yet he can’t call her a  _ monster _ ) and yet she stands indomitable while he remains bound (he knows he is stronger still; he could tear her heart in the blink of an eye out if he were  _ free _ ), so he can only yield to some sort of pleasant association with her touch as he continues to glare, pale lips still curled back (he won’t completely surrender, he isn’t  _ defeated _ , she should still know that he is not something to be  _ toyed  _ with).  As she lifts her other hand his attention jumps to it and what she’s carrying like a leaping current---somehow, he  _ knows  _ enough that his eye fixates on the dark bottle and he unconsciously throws his shoulders forward slightly (he’s  _ starving _ , he has been for as long as he can remember and it’s  _ so close _ ).

A soft hum echoes from her throat as she uncorks the bottle (the smell could drive him  _ mad  _ were he not already  _ far  _ beyond that) and he jerks his chains,  _ hisses  _ his hunger (it doesn’t matter why, it doesn’t matter how, his body is overwhelmed with  _ need _ ).  She lifts it and his eye follows, his lips coming agape in anticipation and is breathing coming heavy enough to be audible (there’s a sort of  _ naturalness  _ to this response, firmly entrenched among the nonsense of  his mind, a chain of events repeated time and time again until it stands firm even among the swirling blur).  Her fingers guide his chin upward and for just a moment he feels the urge to snap at them, but that wouldn’t be his place---his path is already set.

She is smiling (he barely notices; still, it creates some sort of warm pulse in the depths of him) as she tilts the glass up to his lips and lets a stream of a fluid far darker red than wine (and far more valuable, considering that it provides  _ life  _ to the living as well as the  _ unliving _ ) fall between them; he would  _ strain  _ to grow closer (more,  _ more _ ) but he’s at the end of his binds already, so he can only drink what he’s offered as all his scattered senses and thoughts hone in on that single point, the crimson focus of his hunger and his madness and his buried self-loathing alike.  Blood drips from the creases of his lips (even though she’s careful, this is inevitably  _ messy  _ business) and for a moment he is almost  _ calm _ , throat only rumbling in a satisfied  _ purr  _ rather than any display of violence he might have oft attempted.

The stream grows thin and it’s not  _ enough  _ (maybe it never could be, maybe he could drain the world dry and still not be satisfied), and yet for a moment he remains quiet, his eye glassed over in that singular thought (things are just a bit more clear, the burning irons in his head have cooled if only for a moment) before his head droops and he licks his lips to savor whatever he can of the meal she offered (just enough to keep him alive, it’d seem; maybe that made sense, that she’d have to curb and deny his instinct in order to somehow tame it, he doesn’t know, he can’t bother to think it through).  She sets the emptied bottle on the ground and reaches out to his face, wiping the blood from his chin with delicate fingers and he stays utterly frozen (he  _ remembers  _ her; he can’t hurt her, seeing her  _ hurt  _ would be far worse than enduring  _ any  _ level of madness himself).  With another soft hum she places her finger to his lips; instinctively he curls his tongue around it to claim the last of the crimson on it (but he doesn’t  _ bite _ ; he certainly  _ could _ , but in the same way, he can’t).

“Are you feeling better now?” she asks sweetly (and he  _ hears  _ her; before, she must have asked the same question when he couldn’t, too), but his tongue has all but forgotten how to form words---he merely lowers his head in a small nod (he’s not really sure how to answer, or what exactly she means, but he knows he should agree) as he breathes audibly (does he really even have to breathe? perhaps he just wants her to hear  _ something _ ).  With the same impossible gentleness she pets his head (she must hope to  _ heal  _ him, but even his voice of reason says he’s more likely to only become a  _ tamer  _ animal), lets him relax for this brief and still moment they have together (if it’s even that; he’s  _ hardly  _ who she must be thinking of, not anymore, but it’s not as though he can tell her that).

Of course, it isn’t made to last, as she’s well aware; she soon stands to take her leave, taking the sullied wine bottle with her to the door, and he stays still only until she closes it behind her---only then do his growls fill the room once more for a brief moment, while he can remember what  _ loneliness  _ is.


End file.
